A Twist Of Fate
by Lialioya
Summary: "Would it hurt to possibly consider that everything in this world is not as picturesque as they tell you it is?" "Probably not, but I refuse to let you, or anyone, try and force a bitter tragedy upon me. I live once, don't spoil it for me." Dallea attempts to get along with a rather abstract prince, despite his constant attitude. But all interaction comes with a price: feelings.
1. The 'Special Task'

No one surveys their surroundings as keenly as one who knows they are living their last moments of freedom.

The inky black sky was still for only a moment before erupting into a thousand bright colors, swirling and dancing joyously, causing every spectator, even the reluctant ones, to gaze up in awe.

The vibrant spectrum that illuminated the sky was reflected in her wide and amazed eyes as they struggled to open wider at the spectacular sight taking place before her. It was surreal.

Her mouth was open in shock, not believing the wonder she was witnessing. For confirmation that it was not all a dream, she squeezed the hand she clutched tightly and briefly glanced at the face whom it belonged to, unwilling to believe she was actually awake.

The woman the hand belonged to smiled kindly down at the small girl, her astonishment and joy contagious. She knew the small girl would love to take part in this years festival, and her decision was reenforced by the way the small girl stood rigid, unable to tear her eyes away from the wondrous colors, chasing each other across the sky in a constant battle for dominance.

The woman looked back at the sky as well, not wanting to bring the child home, but knowing her mother would not approve of her staying out past curfew. With a slight squeeze of her hand, she slowly started to tug at the little girl.

"M'Lady," she said ever so gently to the child. "It is almost curfew, M'Lady. We ought to get you inside."

The girl stirred to the womans requests slightly, not wanting to tear her eyes away from the sight that mesmerized her, but at the same time not wanting to cause a fuss. She slowly dragged her eyes away from the sky and lowered her chin. The woman softly pulled on the childs small arm, and without a word she turned and they took their leave.

After they were alone and no longer apart of the throng of awed spectators, the woman tried to make conversation. "Did you enjoy yourself, M'Lady?"

"Very much so!" Despite her silence up until that point, the girl was brimming with fresh awe and wonder. "They were so beautiful! Thank you so much for bringing me, Nanny."

"You're welcome, M'Lady," the woman smiled down at the girl who grinned brightly back at her. The woman's tight bun atop her head was almost as gray as the ones which sparkled in the sky now far off in the distance. She was clad in a simple maids attire, as she always did.

The small girl, however, sported an enviable blue dress with a perfect little bow on her brow, letting any passerby know she was of high class, just as her mother had ordered. The small girl never minded, and when the woman inquired of it she only responded that it made her feel "pretty."

A heartbreaking thing since over the years of having rather exceptionally . . . different facial features she had acquired the nickname "Piglet."

Or to be blunt, everyone considered her to be more ugly than roadkill, everyone that is except for her mother, who always insisted that she had yet to grow into her features.

But that just meant the drunks down at the town bar would talk about that ugly duckling and her loopy mother.

"You are most welcome." Nanny glanced around her, checking if the coast was clear before adding in a whisper, "Dallea."

The little girl looked at her strangely but said nothing. She didn't understand why Nanny was insistent on calling her "M'Lady" instead of her real name, and on the rare occasions she did murmur it, she made sure no one was around.

Dismissing the thought as her large home seemed to appear out of the dark, Dallea waited for Nanny to open the large gate before taking her hand once again and trying to keep up with Nanny's long strides. They made quick work of the path that lead them to extremely grandiose doors, and Nanny brought out a key from her chest pocket before sliding it into the lock.

Nanny helped Dallea with her small and practically useless coat then lead her up a flight of stairs, the same velvet carpet covering the steps and the halls alike. Dallea struggled to keep up with Nanny while still trying to check the many framed paintings to see if their eyes followed her as she ascended, just as Wyrd said. Fortunately her great uncle's stoic portrait still gazed blankly forward.

Nanny quickly helped Dallea undress and slip on her nightgown, tucking her in as she always did.

"Goodnight, dearest Dallea," Nanny offered her a small peck on her forehead as Dallea responded, her voice weighed down with sleep.

"Goodnight, Mother."

Nanny froze, eyes wide as she waited for the small girl to recognize her mistake.

"I-I mean goodnight Nanny."

Nanny silently slipped from the room, an unfamiliar feeling rising in the throat. She had never had kids, but something certainly did not seem amiss when Dallea called her Mother.

* * *

The priceless vase shattered into a thousand pieces as it made contact with the wall. The silence that followed was so heavy he could almost touch it from where he stood at the opposite end of the room.

Still, he felt not a trace of regret for what he did.

His breath was labored as if he had just run a long distance, but with the amount of pacing he had just finished he might have been. He stared at the mark he made in the wall for a few seconds longer before looking away, agitation flooding back with full force.

"Accompaniment." He spat the word bitterly as if it was poison. "I do not need any accompaniment. "

He recalled vividly the conversation he had with his father when he was explaining what exactly would go on in the next year or so. Even though when his frivolous father finally stopped blathering, his vision was bright red. He bit down on his tongue so hard he tasted blood.

A peasant? In the castle? Accompanying him in his everyday tasks?!

Who in the nine realms came up with such a ridiculously idiotic idea?

He remembered his father spoke about "Not appreciating the outside world", which in his own opinion was so utterly stupid he thought throwing himself off the nearby bridge seemed more appealing.

But no one cared much for his opinion.

He finally became sick of pacing in his dark and dreary room, even though most times he found comfort in it. He needed some air.

He made an abrupt turn towards the door and flung it open and let it slam against the all, and he knew everyone in earshot heard his disdain. He quickly strode down the hall, but hesitated before making his way down the flight of stairs. He did not want to run into anyone, but the nearby passage had not been used since. . .

He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, insisting to use the passage regardless.

He spun on his heel and went a bit farther down the hall before stopping at a tapestry, and he was about to move it aside when he heard an achingly cheerful voice.

"Brother!"

The boy tensed, not wanting to turn to the person hurrying down the corridor to him, but also not wanting to give away his pasage, so he settled for a disgruntled glare. "What do you want, Thor?"

Thor tried not to seem to wounded by his tone, but even the boy noticed his smile waver before glimmering like before, as if Thor was attempting to blind him. "Brother, I was wondering if you wanted to join me and my friends for a fighting tournament-"

"No," the boy cut off Thor sourly. "I have no interest in such things."

Thor did a double take on his brothers behavior. "But Loki, last time you said you wished I had invited you."

"I have changed my mind, is that against the law?" His tone caused Thor to purse his lips ever so slightly. "Now if you will excuse me."

Thor nodded, backing away and trying for another forced smile. "Alright, well, if you need anything. . ."

Loki waited until Thor had vanished behind a corner before pulling aside the tapestry to reveal a large jut in the wall, which he quickly applied pressure to. The wall made not a sound while rocks moved aside to show a yawning dark hole, which he wasted no time melting into.

He was already far away when he heard the door close, and its echo was his footsteps only companion. Not that he minded silence, or even darkness. In fact he longed for it, especially when his vexing brother was in the room, ruining everything with his brilliant perfection.

Soon he reached the end of the tunnel, tiny fragments of light swirling down through holes and making the tiny but uncountable dust particles visible. He raised his arms up and brushed his hands against the stone slab that entombed him, and it moved aside noisily, contrasting violently with his entrance into the tunnel.

He climbed out of the tunnel and onto slightly damp grass as he used to do so often before the 'incident'. He brushed himself off and walked away from the slab as it slowly closed.

The tunnel, as he already knew, had taken him far away from the castle and to a large hill overlooking the vast land that was his home. The grand palace of Asgard shone in the moons bright light and glowed even brighter as he could see the far off peasants celebrating the harvest festival. They were nice, he guessed, but a complete waste of time when they could be doing more productive things.

He leaned against the desolate tree that grew on the otherwise naked hill, warped and bent almost as if made that way so he could rest on it if he pleased.

Watching the brilliant colors sparkle in the distance made him feel forsaken, even more than the tree that supported him. More than anything he just wanted to be left alone, he want to be in the sidelines, do his own thing and have no one question him.

Yet a small almost fully smothered spark within him desperately needed to be the hero, to be the one that won the fight, to be the one who got to raise his fist in the air in triumph, to hear the thunderous applause, see the pride on everyone's faces, to have the crowd chant his name. He knew exactly what he wanted, because he had seen it happen to Thor countless times and the envy that grew in his stomach was always absolute.

He let out a soft sigh, almost inaudible even though there was no one around to jeer him. He did not know if that was the problem or not.

He was lonely, more than envious, more than vexed, he was simply so isolated it started to get to him. He started to wonder.

Having someone that is forced to follow him around would be a change. At least he would have someone to overshadow since there was no doubt that a peasant would be worse than him in just about everything.

Maybe, but it could also just be another pest that he would have to look out for, but maybe he was willing to take a shot.

"Loki!" He was jarred out of his thoughts by the sudden sound, also causing him to jump slightly. "Loki, you know you're not supposed to be out of the castle at this time at night!"

He recognized the voice as his mother's, and he groaned internally. He waited impatiently for the day when he could do something without his parents nagging him or breathing down his neck.

"Coming, mother!" Loki responded. He gave the tree one last forlorn glance, knowing that a stern scolding was ahead before descending down the hill to where his mother stood, disapproval clear in her eyes.

"Thrice I have caught you out past your curfew." Queen Frigga shook her head at her son as he kept his gaze on the floor, kicking the ground halfheartedly. "This time I am afraid you will have to suffer the consequences."

It was always that way. If he was not causing hindrance in one place, he was doing it in the other. He was always conceding some type of trouble. As she turned to lead him inside, he tried to hide his mischievous smile, but knew it was not meant to be so while whispering, "When am I not?"

* * *

**Surprise! I'm back, and so is Dallea!**

**Sorry for those of you who enjoy Little Bit Of Red, as you may have noticed I have put it on hiatus, TEMPORARY hiatus may I add, due to the majority of votes saying I should rewrite this. . .**

**So I did!**

**I did take every single vote into consideration, and honestly the result was clear. **

**Enough of me.**

**~Lialioya**


	2. The Ugly Duckling

**All I can say is; it's good to be back.**

**That's a lie, I have to add my disclaimers. I don't own anything, aside from my various original characters, including Dallea, and majority of the plot line. If did own it all, I would probably be in a yacht somewhere. This goes for the entire story.**

* * *

She awoke to the rush of the wind as it blew through her open windows, sending the curtains swirling. Dallea stirred slightly as the cool breeze brushed against her motionless face, and cracked an eye when it continued.

She rolled over in bed, yawning broadly then settling back into the covers, sinking into its warmth and to return to the realm of sleep she had just been dragged from.

Miraculously, her sluggish mind recalled exactly what day it was.

Her eyes snapped open as emotion flared in her chest, one she knew only too well as panic and fear. Her limbs struggled to obey her frantic commands, but whilst ripping off the covers and diving into the washroom, she stumbled many times.

She examined her bedraggled hair, sitting atop her head as if hoping to attract a bird. Reaching for her brush, then taking back her hand, she eventually decided to let Nanny style her hair. She would know what the proper braid would look like, since she had been to the palace of Asgard many times.

"Some of the finer women at the palace where their hair like a flower." Dallea heard Nanny's voice in her head as she recalled the tale which she had listened to with rapt attention. "Their strands resemble delicate petals, just like the beauties we see in the meadows."

Dallea secretly hoped she would not have to wear her hair in such a way, fearing she would somehow morph it into looking more like a dung pile than a beautiful flower.

"M'Lady?" She heard Nanny's voice call from the other room, and the distinguishable _tap tap_ of her footsteps.

"I am in here, Nanny."

Nanny peeked into the washroom and smiled, offering a small curtsy, as she did every morning. Dallea always felt self conscious just watching, so she had decided to return the small bow to Nanny, whose smile always grew.

"Good morning, M'Lady." Nanny stepped into the bathroom, a fine ocean blue silk dress draped over her arm.

"Good morning, Nanny." Dallea cautiously peered at the fabric, checking to see if it was one of those attires that were designed by Mares themselves, trying to squeeze the life right out of the one who wore it. Nanny caught her hesitant gaze.

"Your mother herself had this tailored, rest assured M'Lady," Nanny chuckled slightly. "Crafted just for you."

Dallea nodded, not wanting to show her doubts to Nanny, who she saw looked enthused to begin getting Dallea ready. Instead she began to remove her nightgown as Nanny delicately placed the dress aside for the moment and began to fill the tub with steaming water, so Dallea could bathe herself.

"I will be right back, M'Lady," Nanny said while she slipped out of the bathroom to run a quick errand as Dallea washed herself.

After stepping into the tub, Dallea fully submerged herself under the soapy water and let her face twist into panic. Why her? What would happen if she accidentally let something slip and her and her mother were punished?

She emerged once more, and put the thought to the back of her mind while she washed and dried herself.

"Nanny, can you help me with the buttons?" Dallea called, hoping Nanny was in the next room so she would not have to try and force the pesky buttons into place. Fortunately she heard Nanny's reply, and she soon felt the old woman's calloused hands fastening her smooth dress, that resembled water as it lapped upon a peaceful shore. Her neckline was studded with various stones, and she instantly noticed how they weighed her down.

"Do you like it, M'Lady?"

Dallea nodded silently, and sat on her special stool, like always, waiting to feel the steady brush running through her hair, Nanny miraculously not causing even a small twinge of pain, despite the many knots sprinkled in her blond mane.

"Are you excited, M'Lady?" Nanny asked after a few moments of silence.

"Yes," replied Dallea, her voice still thick with sleep.

"Even a stranger could see you are terrified, M'Lady. Your shoulders are trembling dreadfully!"

Dallea sighed slightly, letting her ramrod posture ease a bit when her shoulders sagged, as if burdened heavily. "I am indeed frightened, Nanny, but you must understand-"

"I do understand, M'Lady," Nanny soothed Dallea by running her fingers through her hair, readying herself to style it. "I just want to explain how this is not something to fret over! You will do absolutely fine, and I am certain of that. Now remember your posture. You mustn't be slouching while in the company of princes!"

Dallea straightened herself and waited patiently for Nanny to complete weaving her hair into an intricate pattern. In the mean time, she started to wonder what the palace looked like. She remembered Nanny describing that as well.

"You would love it, M'Lady." The awed whisper Nanny breathed made a younger Dallea strain even more to catch every word. "Towering pillars of gold, rising far above everyone's heads! The vast lineup of guards, ready to protect at any cost! The clustered towns and markets all surrounding the palace, and by Yggdrasil's great name, I would give anything just to see the palace behind the setting sun once more!"

"I am finished, would you care to see?" Asked Nanny, pulling Dallea from her thoughts.

"Yes please." Nanny twisted the stool around so Dallea could see herself in the mirror, and once she realized the person staring back was indeed her reflection, she gasped.

Hesitant to touch it, yet harvesting the urge to stroke it, her hand paused right before it made contact with the beautiful braid Nanny had somehow managed to twirl out of her hair. She eventually let her fingertips graze the braid delicately, and to her delight it stayed firm and rigid.

"Oh Nanny! It is wonderful!" Dallea's awed whisper barely escaped her mouth as she still gleaned the image of her hair through the mirror with unwavering attention. Nanny rest her hands gently on the girl's shoulder.

"I am truly glad you think so, M'Lady," she replied. Nanny let the cozy silence settle for a few heartbeats before she regretfully had to get Dallea downstairs. "Come now, I am sure your mother would like to speak with you before your carriage arrives."

Dallea gave one last long look before hopping off the stool and allowing Nanny to usher her out of the room.

In the foyer, Nanny and Dallea aimlessly looked around for her mother, but she was nowhere to be found. After a few moments of heavy silence, Dallea shuffled over to a large mirror that hung on the wall. She adjusted her dress so many times, she ended up worsening the state of it compared to when she had begun.

Nanny sensed her uneasiness, and after watching Dallea struggle with her dress, she joined the small girl, carefully removing her hands from the fabric and adjusting it herself. She paused for a second, her gaze meeting Dallea's through the mirror for a heartbeat, just long enough to see the flicker of fear race through her grass-green eyes.

Nanny smiled through the reflection, and she saw Dallea return one hesitantly. Nanny squeezed her shoulders for a brief moment, and was about to turn away when she realized Dallea had her hand tightly clasped around her skirt. Nanny looked down at Dallea, and the girl looked back up at her.

"I am scared, Nanny."

"I know." Nanny watched, surprised, as Dallea buried her face in her skirts and wrapped her small arms around her waist. For a second she was stiff, but she eventually returned the hug, rubbing Dallea's back in a soothing fashion. "I also know that you will manage just fine."

"I will miss you, Nanny."

Nanny paused before replying. "I will miss you as well, Dallea."

They stood in tight embrace with one another for several heartbeats before Nanny realized it was time she took her leave. Gently prying the small girl off of her skirts, she gave her one last broad smile. "Be good, use your manners, and remember not to get into any trouble!"

Nanny accepted Dallea's smile, and the small girl watched as Nanny briskly strode to the other side of the room, passing through the doorway at the same time as her mother. Dallea heard Nanny's slight "M'Lady" and saw her dip into a slight curtsy before disappearing.

Her mother seemed to float across the room, that may have been because her dress was so long it pooled out on the floor. She stopped a few feet away from her daughter, inspecting her thoroughly from every possible angle. Once satisfied, she cast her eyes down towards Dallea's bare feet and frowned.

"Where are your shoes, Dearest?"

Dallea heard the slight scolding in her mothers chiming tone. "Nanny never gave me any shoes, Mother."

Her mother thrust her chin in the air and flared her nostrils. "Dallea Lynae, where are your manners?!"

Dallea swallowed while giving a low curtsy to her mother. "Good morning, Mother. Nanny did not come this morning with any shoes."

Her mother's eye still held a hint of disapproval, despite her saying; "Better. I left them on your nightstand, and noticed you did not take them when I went in to check on you." She revealed a pair of blue fancy slippers. "Now what do you say?"

"Thank you very much, Mother."

Her mother handed her the slippers, and Dallea stepped into the quickly before taking her mother's hand and trying to match her wide strides.

"You will not last long in the grand palace of Asgard with no manners, Dally. Remember that."

Dallea heard the affection in her mother's voice, but could not help but wonder why she insisted on being so strict. Jania was an extremely beautiful woman, with bright blond hair and large blue eyes. She was a singer, one of the most acclaimed in all of Asgard. Dallea wondered frequently if Jania's pride was wounded when she gave birth to such an eyesore, and tried to make up for it by drilling every little ladylike thought into her head, until Dallea could repeat it backwards while sleeping.

"Are you paying attention?"

Dallea shook her head slightly. "I beg your pardon, mother. I was merely lost in excitement for a moment."

"You are a terrible liar, Dally." Jania briefly held a frown, before masking it behind a cheery smile, though her true thoughts lingered in her tone. "No matter, the more you demand yourself to think such a way, the more you will truly be that way. Remember that."

"Alright, mother." Dallea tried not to sound bored at another one of Jania's rambles.

They soon were at the carriage, and Jania helped Dallea into its depths while double checking the luggage herself. After she was satisfied, and had made the Coachman extremely uncomfortable, she joined her daughter in the carriage.

The Coachman wiped his brow hastily and breathed a sigh of relief. He had heard of the poor maids and stable boys who had received harsh criticism from Jania when their work did not live up to her perfectionist standards. He scrambled to his perch and got the carriage moving, and in no time Dallea was straining to see the last glimpses of her home as it slowly vanished beyond the horizon.

She turned forward again, her back already aching from the ramrod straight posture she had to display when in Jania's presence. She kept a wary eye on her mother as she slowly sank into the cushions. What was the point in having fine fabrics if one has to simply stare forlornly at them?

Dallea successfully melted into the painfully bright pink seat, relishing the feeling of a curved back when beside her mother, who was fortunately far too lost in thought to see what her daughter was doing.

Dallea decided to count that as a blessing.

* * *

Loki pawed at the collar of his shirt as it strangled him, while scowling moodily at the mirror. The maid that had arrived with the loathful attire was still outside the door by his fathers orders, making sure that he wouldn't slink away.

He wore a bright green vest and black pants, no doubt chosen since he favored green and black. However, he did not favor the dreadful snot green that looked as if someone had sneezed on his chest.

How did anyone like this color? Loki thought while regretfully turning to the door to be escorted to the main hall. He could only imagine some stupid commoner reason, such as it made them recall fondly of the flu season, where everyone they cared for was ejecting the awful color.

He pushed open the door and glowered at the maid who all but turned up her nose at him as a reply. She made the motion of sweeping him down the hall, as if he was just another dust particle she had to get rid of. It would not have surprised Loki if she favored him as much as if he was.

"Loki." He couldn't tell whether his mother was greeting or scolding him, and he refused to raise his head to see. He kicked the floor, outright ignoring everyone around him, which just so happened to be his 'family'. Though real families don't make an intruder waltz into their house and force their own son to interact with them.

At least in Loki's mind.

His mother lightly touched his shoulder. "Listen well, Loki. I will in no way tolerate this behavior. Our guests will soon arrive, and I don't need your sulking to ruin today. Now, chin up and smile, please."

Loki blew through his nose in a very prolonged and exasperated way before raising his eyes off the floor and to his mother's face. She nodded, raising an eyebrow.

"I know you're not incapable of smiling," she almost teased, drawing a ghost of a grin onto her son's face. "It's a start, but not quite."

Loki smiled. Frigga always managed to coax one out of him.

"There we are! Now, our guests will be arriving shortly, and we need to be waiting for them outside when they come. Why don't you go talk to Thor while me and your father work out all the last-minute details." Frigga gestured to his perfectly groomed brother who was also fidgeting in his tight vest, which was a vibrant red color. Loki nodded absently while making his way to Thor, taking his sweet time in walking a few paces. It seemed the multiple vases became enticing, all of a sudden.

"Hello, Thor."

Loki squinted at his older brother who was a good foot taller than him. Thor turned, looking down at Loki and smiling brilliantly, as always. "Hello to you as well, Loki. I see they shoved you in one of these as well."

Thor pointed to his chest, indicating the vest. Loki nodded.

"I think I'll suffocate before our guest even arrives," Thor pulled at his neck as if to further push his statement, despite Loki knowing exactly how he felt. "Speaking of which, are you excited?"

"No," Loki scowled, moving to take his place at Thor's side. They faced the courtyard alone, as their parents still were attending some adult nonsense, most likely as all adults do, Loki thought. That was probably why his 'guest' was late.

"Well, it seems as if you are the only one here who isn't," Thor said. "I would think you would be glad at a chance to have a companion, brother. After all, I can't be in all of your classes."

"Don't remind me," Loki said. "But as I see it, Father is simply getting some commoner to trail me everywhere I go to force-feed a message down my throat."

"I'm sure it won't be as terrible as you expect. A lot of my friends were commoners."

"Yes, but all of your friends are big brutes who swing around wooden weapons and fight all day. If someone like that comes, than these next months are going to be a nightmare."

"Maybe I'll let them know how you feel, my friends, I mean." Thor said, turning to Loki a bit.

His already pale face turned even more white as he looked at Thor. "You wouldn't"

Thor smiled a bit, and Loki stuck out his lower lip and began to plead, his voice an octave higher than usual. "Come on, Thor. You know I didn't _mean _anything."

Just then a large and extremely _pink _carriage pulled up, and Loki had to fall silent, giving Thor one last look before facing forward. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw his mother stand by his side, but his attention was on the carriage, his mouth turned down in a troubled frown. _Pink?! _His companion was arriving in a _pink _carriage? What kind of companion was this?

Suddenly a horrible thought dawned on him. _No,_ he thought desperately. _No. For Yggdrasil's sake, please let this be some sick joke. . ._

The singer his mother told him about - Althea or something like that - stepped out of the carriage then turned around beckoning her child, who Loki knew right away from the blue skirts was a girl.

_Might as well kill myself right now,_ Loki thought.

If he had thought he couldn't feel any worse after realizing he would have to be spending time with a _commoner __girl_, he had no idea what was to come next.

The little girl stepped outside, eyes on the ground and nearly stumbling as she shook from fright and embarrassment, that took form on her face as a deep blush. Loki looked away and felt bile rise in his throat. He blinked, trying to rid his eyes of the girl. Recoiling slightly, he declared right then he was the unluckiest person in all of the nine realms.

For Yggdrasil's sake, that girl was _hideous!_


	3. The First Day

Her warm breath spiraled into the air as the ice cold breeze bit her skin. Her muscles were tensed and her ears were straining, waiting for the sounds of pursuit she knew would come.

"Piglet," a deathly cold voice hissed in her ear, making her blood run cold and her heart clench. The raspy tone could only come from one person, the person who was turning her around, no doubt fist raised and ready to swing-

Dallea woke in a strange place, panic blaring in her mind like a sun, and just as blinding. Her hands clawed for something to hold for support, her head whipping around wildly, the evil smirk of her dream-pursuer at the corner of her eye, waiting to pounce if she relaxed for only a second.

Then memories came back. She was at the palace, she was safe, no one could hurt her. . . she was safe. . .

That was more than she could say about her past self. Dallea snuggled back into the sheets, the darkness of the room making her eyes go heavy. She was safe. . .

A single tear escaped her closed eyelids and she sank back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Dallea tried to mask her bored sigh as a breath while she attempted to busy her hands. They flit nervously from the hem of her skirts to each other, then found themselves winding her hair, and the pattern repeated.

Dallea watched Prince Loki practice archery from a long distance away, not wanting to sit on the grass and ruin her skirts. She had been sent away by the instructor after Prince Loki had thrown a most unroyal tantrum. The instructor finally caved, shooing the poor girl away, a confused expression on her face. She was going to mention how the King had specifically said for her not to leave the Prince's side, but the harsh glare the instructor gave made the argument die in her throat.

So there she stood, watching from a far distance and hoping the King and Queen wouldn't be too upset with her if she just watched. As long as she was far away enough from Prince Loki so she wouldn't accidentally kindle his spiteful rage towards her that seemingly came from nowhere.

Yes, if that was what she would get if she went closer, she was very contented to stay where she was. Swallowing slightly, she pulled at the collar that tightly encircled her neck as the sun beat down on her. She could almost feel herself burning in the intense heat, and longed to walk to the shady trees, but Prince Loki and his furious temper was between her and her desired destination.

"Not fair!" Her thoughts cried, and she fully agreed. Dallea blinked a few times, as if her eyes were displaying something strange. That voice didn't sound like her own. She heard it again, and this time she knew it wasn't in her head.

"You cheated, just admit it!"

Dallea turned, expecting to see someone glaring down at her, the mean comments directed towards her, but there was no one in sight. Still the complaining continued, over the hill that was obstructing her view from whoever was speaking.

She hesitated, glancing back at Prince Loki, who was fully engrossed in the lesson. Surely she wouldn't be missed for a few seconds. . .

Just a quick look, she promised herself while starting to climb the hill, the sweltering heat resulting in her sweating like a pig and her breath coming in short gasps. Once at the top, Dallea was sure she would fall over out of exhaustion. Her vision blurred and she panted, her back slumped and her hands on her knees. Her mother would be appalled.

After her vision had swam back into focus, she knew she couldn't survive if she didn't get to shade. She would be baked in a few moments, or at least it felt that way.

The voices escaped her attention as she staggered to where she expected shelter to be, but she remembered them all too violently as she bumped into someone wearing extremely hard clothing.

"Hey!" The voice that she had heard yelling from across the hill belonged to a girl a good head taller than Dallea, with a harsh hazel eyes that met Dallea's meek green ones after the girl turned around. She had long night black hair that was pulled back tightly in a ponytail. Dallea realized with a sinking heart that the girl was wearing armor and holding a very sharp looking spear, and currently the girl's fiery gaze rested upon her.

Anger was briefly stifled by confusion as the girl stepped back and examined Dallea, her gaze lingering on her face, making Dallea go scarlet. Her palms were suddenly filled with cold sweat; in fact apart from the bright blush of embarrassment her face had drained of color, labeling her as scared far better than a huge wooden sign. The girl cocked her head to the side, and Dallea noticed from the rapid rise and fall of her chest that the girl had obviously been doing some kind of physical action, most likely fighting from the wild gleam in her eye. Dallea felt two feet tall, and jumped when the girl finally spoke.

"Who are you?" Her tone wasn't overly friendly or kind, but Dallea released the breath she hadn't known she had been holding when she heard no trace of anger. Just curiosity, and almost. . . fascination. Dallea cleared her dry throat noisily.

"D-Dallea."

The girl nodded briefly, taking in the information, but not willing to share her own name.

"I have not seen you around here before." It was not a question, but a statement, yet Dallea saw from the expectance in her still rather adrenaline-filled eyes that she wanted an answer. Conversing was not Dallea's strongest point, but she could see that much at least.

"I-I'm new here," Dallea tried to sound confident, after all, she did have a purpose for being there, just not that exact place. Instead, she seemed to deflate even more. "I am supposed to be accompanying Prince Loki. . ." Dallea swallowed, realizing her mistake when the girl raised her eyebrow. She wasn't accompanying him right then. Would she get in trouble? Would she be the victim of this girl's yelling?

Instead of her face darkening, it lit up in amusement, and Dallea was so surprised she thought she might just faint right there. The girl offered a knowing grin, and Dallea's mouth opened slightly in sheer shock.

"Sick of him already? Don't worry; I think you've set the record for how long a commoner has been around him. A night, isn't that the record, Hogun?" Sif turned to speak with whoever was behind her.

A young boy no older than the girl or Dallea drew closer, but stopped as he studied Dallea. His voice was uncharacteristically deep. "Yes, a night and a half, I believe."

The girl turned back to Dallea, and leaned a bit closer for secrecy. "He's a tad difficult to get along with, you see." That, Dallea thought, she agreed with. Two other boys joined Hogun, and they started whispering and glancing at her occasionally. Dallea went back to being self conscious.

"Oh, the name's Sif, by the way," The girl finally said, extending her hand towards Dallea as courtesy at last dawned on her. Jania would be horrified, Dallea knew, but it was obvious that her and Sif where not alike, Sif's tanned and calloused hand clashing considerably with Dallea's small and pale one.

Sif turned and pointed to a blond haired boy holding a foil as if his life force clung to it. "That's Fandral." Her hand skipped over Hogun, and went to a larger boy with deep red hair, and he was clutching a mind-bogglingly huge axe. "And that's Volstagg." She stepped aside, revealing Dallea and raising her arms in her direction as if displaying a new toy, which Dallea felt like as the three boys examined her skeptically. "Everyone, this is Dallea."

"Hello," she offered, raising her hand in a slight wave before ducking down and fiddling with the hem of her dress, embarrassment leaking into her features.

"It is a pleasure to meet you." Volstagg stepped forward, smiling. Dallea saw smile lines around his eyes, and knew that was an action he did often. He extended his hand that dwarfed Dallea's when she shook it.

"The feeling is mutual," Dallea responded, still mumbling with her chin on her neck. However, she never broke eye contact with him, and she even offered her own smile.

Volstagg noticed from the awkward way she shook his hand that she didn't meet many new people, or she had a very strange. He saw the hesitant way she rose her chin. She wasn't very pretty, and even if that was slightly rude, the truth is often rude.

When they parted, Volstagg stepped aside and Fandral extended his hand next, and instead of getting closer to Dallea and looking down at her as Volstagg did, Fandral leaned forward, arching his back so their heads were at the same level, all the while never moving his feet. His smile had more of a hidden and sly feel to it, as if he spent hours perfecting it in his cutlery, and Dallea didn't put that past him, especially since his hair was styled so expertly.

"I heard about a girl coming and accompanying Prince Loki, and I must say, I'm surprised you haven't tore your hair out yet," Fandral said. This time she felt more confident, grinning with the emotions she felt as she received the compliment - or at least she took it as a compliment. "As you may have already guessed, we are some of Prince Loki's few friends. We know first hand how difficult he can be."

"Friend is a strong word," Hogun, who still hadn't made an attempt to come closer to Dallea, said sullenly. He finally turned to Dallea, bowing slightly in her direction. She was taken aback, not sure how to respond, but eventually bowing in return. She felt ridiculous, but the four people around her didn't blink twice.

"So, Dallea," Sif said after introductions were over, trying out Dallea's name on her tongue. "What brings you wandering our way? Does Prince Loki require something?"

Dallea's cheeks turned slightly pink again, and she studied her feet again, clasping her hands behind her back so she wouldn't be tempted to chew on her nails. She drew circles with her feet while muttering her reply. She didn't know how they would react.

"Well, not exactly. He had sent me away and I heard someone yelling. . ." She swallowed, her eyes flicking up to see their reaction. Once again she anticipated anger, but they just exchanged glances.

"That was Sif, after I emerged victorious in our sparing match," Fandral laughed, dodging Sif's hand as she reached out to punch him. Her face held annoyance, but at seeing the three boys burst into laughter, it wavered then all together evaporated, smiling slightly. She looked to Dallea, who's eyes were growing wide at their strange reaction - or strange to her.

"Fandral cheated," Sif explained to Dallea. "He got Volstagg to surprise me from behind, then while I was distracted he disarmed me."

"Don't be so defensive, Sif," Volstagg grinned at her. "We were just making a humble warrior out of you. Besides, you won the seven rounds before hand."

"And I would have won the eighth if I hadn't been sparing with a horde of dishonest cheaters," Sif tried to become angry, but by the end of her statement she was smirking along with her friends.

Dallea looked from person to person as they laughed and smacked each other on the back. Hogun was a bit more reserved, but he omitted a chuckle or two. It was obvious the friendship they shared was special. Dallea had never been in the presence of such mirth, since whenever she looked someone's way their face twisted in disgust.

She decided she rather liked it.

"Would you like a rematch, then, Sif?" Fandral challenged, his hand resting on his sheathed foil.

"If you dare to fight me without Volstagg holding me back," Sif shot back confidently, brandishing her own spear. They made their way to the large fenced in ring, jumping the dangerous looking fence as if they were made to do so.

"Do you wish to watch?" Volstagg turned to Dallea at the last second before following Hogun to the spot where they observed the fights, remembering she was present. She nodded ecstatically, and Volstagg gestured her to follow.

She did so, the sun ahead no longer bothering her as she sat down beside Volstagg in the shaded area with a perfect view of the arena.

* * *

Dallea laughed more loud than she could remember doing ever before at the joke Fandral just made about Sif's fighting style.

Dallea was having a grand time, watching as the four warriors alternated from fighting to sitting beside her. When they were beside her, they jested and joked about their own fights and the ones they were witnessing. While in the arena their good nature was glazed over as the spur of the fight overcame them.

Sif hardly ever sat out, always itching to fight, and when she did sit, she was constantly spinning her spear in her hand and cheering on the fighters. She was serious, but Dallea still liked her presence. It almost comforted her to know that there was another girl there, even though she was edging to ask her why. Girls normally didn't wear men's battle gear, loved fighting, and weren't usually excellent at fighting.

Fandral settled back, satisfied with the reaction he got from Dallea. She swung her feet merrily, her hands clasping her seat near her knees. She quite enjoyed watching them fight. Sif and Hogun were both excellent fighters, and they approached it like an art form. She was excited to witness who would come out victorious.

Volstagg turned towards her, about to tell Dallea something, when he noticed something beyond her tiny shoulders. His eyes went wide. His voice was urgent.

"Prince Loki approaching, and he does not look like he is in a gaming mood. . ."

Fandral and Dallea both looked, and sure enough a severely sour-looking Prince Loki was making a beeline to the arena.

"Sif! Hogun! Prince Loki approaches!" Fandral yelled, gesturing for Dallea to climb off their sitting place. She jumped from their perch and took a few steps away so Volstagg and Fandral would have somewhere to land.

Sif and Hogun soon appeared climbing over the arena fence, and landing just as Prince Loki arrived.

He looked at Sif and Hogun as if they were vermin. "You do realize there is a door that you can walk through, yes?" Dallea couldn't help but feel scared. After all, Prince Loki was a prince for the Norn's sake! She didn't know what he was capable of, but if what he was capable of reflected what he promised in his glares, he could do an awful lot.

She instinctively brought her hands to her mouth, but changed their course and swiped a strand of hair from her face. The last thing she needed was a prince that loathed her to see her biting her nails.

"Climbing over the fence is half the fun," Volstagg defended his friends, earning a distasteful glare from Prince Loki.

"What you classify as 'fun' is noticably different than what I do," he responded haughtily.

"Obviously," Hogun murmured.

Prince Loki either didn't hear or chose to ignore Hogun, because instead of replying he turned to Dallea who shriveled under his dark glare.

"Come, Peasant." She immediately started to follow him as he spun on his heel and took long strides to distance himself from her. She turned and waved at the four people she just had the time of her life with, and thought of how quickly that ended when Prince Loki arrived.

* * *

Hours later Prince Loki sat stoic beside Dallea at the table. He had gotten fury from his parents when they found out he had sent her away. They were now entitled to spend every waking hour with one another, and typically, Prince Loki was convinced it was all Dallea's fault.

He turned his chair away from her and ate his food silently, never glancing up at any point during his meal. Dallea knew trying to get on his good side was useless. After all, some of his only 'friends' got his vexed stares, so if he hated her, it looked like she was stuck.

At least Sif was sitting beside her, even though the girl was more focused on eating and laughing with Fandral to pay any attention to her.

"What is this called?" Dallea whispered to Sif, unsure what to make of the foreign meal she had been pushing around on her plate.

Sif turned looked at what Dallea was eating, and then looked at her questioningly. "You have never tried Fårikål before?" Dallea shook her head, and Sif turned fully to her. "It's just mutton, cabbage, and some black pepper. Try it, it's delicious."

Sif watched intently as Dallea got a forkful and brought it towards her mouth. She glanced at Sif's intense eyes before she let it into her mouth. Her features brightened considerably. "You're right," Dallea said between chews. "It tastes great!"

"Told you," Sif nodded, getting her own forkful before turning back to Dallea. "So, where do you come from?"

"A village in Alfheim," Dallea responded. "It's more open than in Asgard. There's more growth, natural, I mean."

"I have not visited Alfheim yet," Sif said thoughtfully. She said 'yet' so certainly. There was no room for questioning whether or not she would fulfill her goal. The fire that burned in her eyes, on her tongue, Dallea envied her strength, which brought back her question from earlier. Summoning the courage, she asked.

"Sif," Dallea started, sounding thoughtful. "Why is it that you decided to become a warrior?"

Sif was silent for a long time, or so it felt like to Dallea, who was certain she had crossed the line. Sweat started to gather, she cringed as Sif blinked, then blinked again. . .

"Why not?" Sif didn't sound exactly furious, but passion was present in the words she spoke. "A woman, or girl, any female being, has the right to every privilege a man does. It just takes men a lot longer to see this. It took an awful lot of time for Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun to see this, but they did. I'm a sword smith, not a dame, not a lady, but a warrior."

Dallea couldn't meet her gaze. She looked down at her plate, scolding herself mentally. "I-I meant no disrespect. . ."

"I did not take it as an insult," Sif replied. "Not many people have asked, but I always have my answer in case they do."

Dallea's mouth formed a small 'o'. She wasn't sure what to say, but words came automatically to her lips before she could comprehend them, and once she did, she was mortified at herself.

"Do you think you could teach me?" Dallea knew this time she had done it. She was too forward - they had only met that very day! Who was she to go asking such a thing? Yet she admitted she wanted to learn. Fighting seemed almost graceful when one was skilled at it, like a grand dance between foes. Both opponents cat and mouse, never sure which one would arise victorious.

"If you really want me to," Sif responded, and Dallea thought she looked rather pleased with herself. "But it will take a lot of effort and dedication on your part. Warriors aren't pulled out of air, you know."

Before Dallea could nod, a harsh laugh cut through the air, and she turned to see it was Prince Thor, laughing at his brother cruelly. Prince Loki was stiff where he sat, hands curled into fists and jaw clenched. When his brother stopped laughing, he spoke coldly.

"I am no coward, Thor," Prince Loki said through gritted teeth, barely restraining his anger. "Why don't we settle this later, we're making a scene."

"Later?" Prince Thor laughed into his brother's face, making Prince Loki's face darken. "You're even more yellow-bellied than I thought! You can't even stand your ground in a verbal fight, forget a physical one!"

Prince Loki seemed to shake with anger. "You're just a big brute who depends on his muscles to get him out of everything!"

"And your my coward brother who runs from fights and jumps whenever a crow calls, what a pair we make," Prince Thor mocked his brother.

Dallea knew she had missed something very important.

Prince Loki stood, his chair scraping loudly. Dallea thought he would hit Prince Thor, but instead he turned and ran from the room, pushing the grand doors open and letting them swing shut behind him with a crash that echoed across the hall.

"Don't mind them." Sif's voice reached Dallea as she still gazed at the door where Prince Loki had disappeared, as if in a trance. She blinked then turned to Sif, who had an unreadable expression on her face. "They fight tooth and nail, but at the end of the day, they don't mean it."

Dallea turned back to her cold food, not hungry any more.

She wished she could believe what Sif said.

* * *

Loki strode through the forest, muttering obscenities under his breath furiously.

"Can't hold myself up in a fight, oh we shall see, Thor. We shall see. . ."

Loki arrived at his destination, a small clearing in the woods he had chosen specifically because no one dared to linger in the wood that was said to house ghouls of the most horrid kind. Not that Loki believed in such ridiculous things.

He knelt beside a gnarled tree, muttering a small spell under his breath and giving a smile when it worked perfectly. The roots shriveled away like the shadows in dawn, revealing a rather deep pit, full of various sharp objects, from knives to swords to axes.

Loki didn't trust the armory, as much as he did not trust the guards who so viciously mocked him. He reached into his pockets, and pulled out more knives that he had stolen from dinner. Thor would see indeed, for he was the only one other than Odin and the council he had conversed with who knew about a possible war on the horizon. Loki would be ready. He was no coward. He would show Thor, he would show Odin. . .

Loki tossed the knives into the pit, then waved his hand and the roots re-tangled themselves. He stood, brushing off his trousers and straightening his shirt tail before trotting off. His mother would be furious if she found out that he had been there at that time of night, but she never would. Loki hardly ever got caught in his many endeavors.

As soon as the prince left the clearing, a shadowy figure emerged from the bushes where they had been watching the prince with eerie concentration. They touched the roots briefly then smiled, their razor-sharp fangs almost hosting a light of their own.

"So, the little prince wants a battle?" The figure chuckled, then their voice grew deadly and harsh, and everything seemed to recoil from them. Their eyes burned bright with fury and a lust for vengeance. What better way to strike back at Odin than to get his son? "Then so be it."

The figure disappeared into the forest, a deadly shadow once more.


End file.
